Page 11

Chapter nine

Kace

Past

“ H ere you go, inmate, your new home. Complete with toilet, sink and a bed—I hope you’re not shy. The rest you and your bunk-mate can hash out. Any questions, ask someone else because I don’t give a damn,” the old officer spouted, spit flinging from his mouth as he rattles it off as quickly as he can. Well shit, we are in the same boat—neither one of us wants to be here.

Holding onto my new belongings, I look around the small nine by fifteen cell. Cinder block walls, cinder block ceiling, concrete floors—nice, it’s like being in a tomb. The bunk is to the right with two paper thin mattresses on it and one grumpy looking fucker on the bottom.

“I’m not moving. Don’t even think about asking,” he grunts.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I rather like jumping and considering breaking my neck every time I wake up in the morning,” I snap back.

“Funny guy.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

To the left of the cell is the toilet, the sink was built into the top and the residual sink water goes down into the tank for the toilet. The entire contraption is built out of metal, but at least it looks clean. Beside that, attached to the wall, are two shelves. One empty, which I assume is waiting for me to fill it, while the other holds random odds and ends.

Once I finish taking in my surroundings, I move over to drop my belongings on my bunk and start putting my space together. I figure it’s going to take a bit for me to get acclimated to anything here—schedules, locations, people, and really, just how things work in general. You know, okay, maybe you don’t.

It feels like the first day of high school all over again.

You get dropped into a class room with just your backpack and a shy smile. Unlike public school, this place feels like it will break my teeth if I even attempt to look somewhat happy; which is understandable. How anyone can be happy in prison, I don’t know.

“Lights out is at nine every night, lights on is at six am. Feeding times will vary, as will recreational time. You might just wait to see what is going to happen before you choose. I don’t like to be bothered much, at all really. So, keep it quiet in here.”

Well, that came out of nowhere, it was like the man could read my mind. Looking down, I peer at him. We were physically a little too close for strangers, but that was to be expected when I was randomly dropped into a room that is the size of a match box.

“Noted,” I reply while looking at what he has in his hand.

He sits leaning against the wall where a headboard would rest if we were in a normal situation, his ankles crossed with his prison issued socks showing, and a pair of Wal-Mart grade glasses sitting right at the tip of his nose. I would guess he is either in his fifties or sixties, especially with his graying hair, and the belly he is supporting.

But looking at the item he held in his hand, maybe I am wrong and he has just aged terribly.

“Batman?” I asked, raising a brow at the comic book he flips through.

“The one and only, you a fan?”

“No, I prefer Iron Man. More sass. Less brooding.”

“He is also a criminal.”

“And Batman isn’t? Besides, I hate to break it to you, so are we.”

The old coot glares up at me. Whelp, what a way to start our new friendship. Bickering over comic book superheroes. Maybe this is like high school after all.

What in the absolute fuck is prison?

I have been here for a few weeks, and it has been utter chaos; I thought prisons were uniform in nature? Society sure lied about that since there isn’t any set schedule like my cellie led me to believe. The lights came on, or went off, at regular times, but nothing else here is on any sort of regimen.

Annoying, but okay.

Not only is it chaotic in that manner, but these people in here are animals. I have half a mind to believe that the governor sent me here out of retribution and nothing else. It wasn’t quite enough that I was punished with a full ride scholarship to prison, no, let’s make it max where the worst of the worst hang out and slaughter each other for shits and giggles.

I never thought I would be the type to sit back and watch another man take one hell of a beating or one be cornered in the showers and gang raped either. I was in shock the first time it happened, but another inmate told me to just look away, which I did, but the sounds were just as bad as what I had initially seen.

The victimized inmate was screaming through the whole ordeal. I’ve never been butt fucked myself, but I have done my fair share of anal with women, and I know that it was nothing like what I had witnessed. I’m sure that it was some sort of retaliation or punishment, for whatever reason. I’d be a liar if I told anyone that I didn’t remember the squelching sounds of that inmate’s ass while the others grunted and degraded him the entire time.

On top of that, the guards did nothing.

I may be new here, but I have picked up a few things over the past couple of weeks, and I know the attackers were from a different cell block, and that they were not supposed to be in the showers at the time. I didn’t dare say anything, so I kept my head down and continued to wash my body—scrub clean, keep quiet, and get the hell out.

I was quick to learn that keeping my mouth closed was probably the best thing to do. I didn’t see anything, I don’t know anything, I can’t say anything. That was until the skinheads came around, watching me as I go on about my business each day. Society may like to believe that prison isn’t going to turn into another war zone, and that gangs cease to exist because there are guards observing their move every second of every day, but that is so far from the truth.

If you believe that, you’re a fucking idiot, and you’re living under a rock.

Violence will, forever, continue to exist in prison even more so once new inmates are partitioned off into their respective factions. White inmates were quickly picked off by the Aryan Brotherhood, the skinheads, the Nazis— whatever you want to call them. The Hispanic, Asian, and African descent inmates were no different. The segregation between groups is astronomical; racism is alive and well in prison.

The AB wasn’t fucking around with me when I showed up, appearing like your typical white boy; they flocked to me. Their leadership, some guy named Thomas, is elusive and I still have yet to see him. I heard all the white inmates speaking of this guy, but other than the rumors I don’t think he actually exists. He’s like some kind of boogie man.

What I do know, however, is that the Brotherhood doesn’t use beat downs as initiation tactics so that’s good—I guess. I’ve had a few run-ins with them since I got to Darkwater, and I’m sure they’re not going to stop. They will continue until I join their little bullshit group. I may be a lot of things in life, but a racist fuck isn’t one of them.

They can put me in the ground before I ever concede.

I stare up at Don, their current muscle. I turned them down, yet again, and now here I am, his fist connecting with my ribs, my stomach, my face, my chest, everywhere. I lost count on how many times he has hit me this go around. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and I see nothing except for a blurry light and a shadow just as a heavy fist connects with my face once more.

“Back up inmate!” I hear a man scream, then the world is shifting and jolting me left and right.

Suddenly, things stop moving as my back collides with the ground. All around me is the sounds of scuffling, whacks of batons against someone’s limbs, and the clink of handcuffs. At the moment, it’s all muffled and my brain is foggy, so that’s all I can make out, and I feel like I am about to pass out.

“I said back the fuck up!” the voice shouted again.

“Get down!” screamed another.

“Restrain him!” another grunted.

That was three total, no four? Fuck, I don’t know. My entire body is in pain, my face is throbbing, and I think it’s fucking bleeding.

After what seemed like hours, I feel hands grab me around my biceps and haul me up from what I assume is the floor. Though the world around me is blurry and fading in and out, I’m confident I can feel my feet only for them to give out from under me.

Ope. No, no, I can’t feel my feet.

“Shit, he’s out of it,” grunted the man to my right.

Instinctively, I turned to look towards the voice, but alas, I still can’t tell where he is exactly or if I have actually turned my head for that matter.

“To the med-ward. The ratchette needs to make sure he’s not going to die on us. Don fucked him up. Last thing we need is another inmate dying while Warden Durden is out on retreat.”

That was screamer, I think.

Wait, Durden is out on retreat again? Does that fucker ever show up and do his job?

God dammit, my head hurts. It’s so heavy. Tilting it forward feels the best so I leave it there, hanging, while everything goes black.

“Well, he has seen better days, hasn’t he?”

“You could say that.”

“Alright, get him on the table.”

“Yes, Miss Cindy.”

“Kace, honey, do you know where you’re at?”

Silence.

“Kace.”

Silence.

“Wake your ass up, inmate.”

Slap.

“Hey! Was that necessary?” Nurse Cindy shouted.

I was only partially aware of what was going on, but whoever just slapped me, their mom’s a ho.

That strike, however, forces a groan from me as a new wave of pain rolls through my head now that the light was back on.

Or was it even out?

“There he is. Hey, Kace. You’re in the med-ward with me. Do you know what day it is?”

“Is it my birthday?” I force out.

“Smart-ass,” Nurse Cindy huffs. “I’m going to give you some pain medication, then get you cleaned up and look over your wounds. Looks like you got your ass handed to you today.”

“Mhm,” was all I was able to murmur.

I hate this place.

It took her a while to find the man under all the blood but she eventually did. The pain starts to dull, but it is still giving me one hell of a headache, to the point she keeps the lights off. I have a concussion, a broken eye socket, and the bridge of my nose looks like it is about to break through the skin.

Don dished me a good one this time.

A bit ago, Nurse Cindy left me alone while she went to hand out medications to the inmates who were on strict regimens. I am more awake now than I was, so when I look at myself in the warped metal of a paper towel dispenser, I can clearly see how shitty I look.

Both eyes are black around the sockets, the sclera themselves are blood red—go figure—and my nose is swollen. Man, I almost look like a Muppet from Sesame Street.

“You know, you should probably stop getting into fights. You really don’t seem like the winning type,” Cindy spoke as she came back into my observation area.

“Sorry, the good times just find me.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Kace.”

“Oh, come on, you know it’s true. Get drunk, kill the governor’s daughter, end up in prison, get my ass beat, and now, I’m in your care. It’s almost like YOU are my good time, Nurse Cindy.”

The laugh that comes out of her makes my heart warm. I detest ending up in here, but she really does make things better. She has the perfect bedside manner, meaning you are not coddled but you aren’t treated like garbage either. I’ve heard of a few past prison nurses that ended up getting hurt because they treated the inmates poorly. I hate to say this, but they may have deserved it. There’s no reason to treat people like shit, from any stand point, but especially if you’re an innocent, like Nurse Cindy.

Unable to contain myself, I awarded the woman a lopsided grin. I may look like I was just put through a meat grinder, but I am still going to turn the flirtation up a few notches.

“Put that smile away, Kace.”

“What smile? I’m just trying to stretch through the abuse my face endured today. Need to make sure I don’t end up like inmate Keller.”

Now there’s a man that was truly put through the grinder. A few weeks before I was delivered to Darkwater, he was assaulted by an Asian inmate while working in the kitchen. The inmate carved him up real good with a pair of dull knives.

“You leave him be, he didn’t deserve that.”

“You think I deserve getting my pretty face smashed in?”

“Of course not, honey. I swear you get beat up just so you can come see me.”

I chuckle at her.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve said this but guilty as charged.”

She let out another warm laugh before helping me to my feet, her shorter frame barely coming up to my shoulders—she’s such a kind woman. I won’t lie though; I’m a little jealous that there are people outside of these walls that get to enjoy her infectious laugh at any time of the day.

Man, to be free again.

“You’re bad, Kace. Now get out of here, my shift is coming to an end, and I don’t think the night nurse likes you as much as I do.”

“This mean I have a chance, Nurse Cindy?”

“No way in hell,” she said, cracking a smile.

It took a good week or two for the swelling in my eyes to go down, but I managed to get from my cell to the cafeteria, and to the showers without needing much help. I probably looked like a little bitch having a guard escort me to the rec yard, but I needed the help. I’ve spent a couple days soaking up the warmth outside, dodging the questions and assumptions about my beat down. It wasn’t until I felt the bulky presence of someone near me that I finally gave anyone any attention.

Without looking up from where I am staring at the ground, I grunt out my bitter words. I am angry for several reasons, and it all just continued to pile up. My workouts aren’t doing shit, not that I can fight anyway. My lawyer tucked tail and ran. My mom is annoyed with having to take off all her jewelry when she comes to visits, such a stupid reason to be mad at me . The list goes on and on and on.

“The fuck do you want?”

“That’s no way to talk to your friend, hombre.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Obviously, you pendejo. You need one though. Name’s Matias—I’m your friend now. Stop looking like someone fucked your bitch and capped your pooch, you’re making yourself a walking target.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’m not into men, calm down.”

“I asked, what do you want. Answer the question or… You know what... don’t answer that. Just fuck… off.”

“I told you, dumb shit, I’m your friend. Scoot the fuck over. We’re going to sit here, together, until the end of your rec time so the skinheads don’t beat you into the ground again.”

“I don’t need your god damn help.”

“Well shit, good thing I didn’t fucking ask if you needed it. Now shut up and scoot.”

Who the hell is this guy?!

We sat in that really awkward kind of silence that you see between two really ugly hookups. I don’t want people around me; it’s hard to mind your business when there is someone else lingering around attempting to inject themselves into your life. Even more so when it is someone you don’t know, in a place that made you beyond uncomfortable. Turning just enough to get a better look at him, from the corner of my damaged eye, I make out a few details.

Hispanic, obviously, since his accent and what he has already said made that pretty clear. Looks like he is about six foot three, maybe four, and a good two hundred twenty to two forty. Can tell he works out; arms are a little on the bulkier side but not quite as toned as mine though. He has your typical thin sideburns that run down into a line of a beard and goatee, tan skin loaded with tattoos all the way up to his chin, full black brows, thick black hair—total Mexican.

After a moment of sizing up my new ‘friend,’ he finally spotted me.

“Like what you see, pretty boy?”

“Not at all. Your hair isn’t long enough and you’re too jacked for me. I like to overpower my lays.”

His laugh made me jump, especially when he brought his hand down hard on my shoulder in one of those brotherly type slaps, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“Ease the fuck up, man.”

“You’re a funny one. Anyone else and I might have punched you in the damn mouth.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky then.”

“Listen, I may be new here, but I know how jail works and I have a soft spot for the ones who don’t fit. Doesn’t seem like you belong here, and I don’t like seeing your kind eat dirt.”

“Hmph,” I huffed.

“You can take my friendship and I can help keep some of these fucks off your back or you can end up face-down-ass-up, take your pick.”

“Is this where I sign my name on the dotted line and I turn into your prison wife?”

“Nah, not today. I might need your help in the future, but I just want a friend that’s not going to stab me in the back later. You don’t look like the stabbing kind, just the kind that gets drunk and kills young women in car accidents.”

“And you look like the type that will scream about locked doors.”

Silence settling in between us for a moment, everything grew awkward again as I look away. What was this guy getting at, mentioning the accident like that? No one cares about what put you here, unless you are a child molester. A random wreck that ended in death? Yeah, not an offense that usually lands anyone on prison-hierarchy radar.

“Damn, I thought I was going to get you to crack with that one. Good Friday quote, by the way,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

Matias reached his hand out, like we were about to shake on a car deal. Boy, if I could go back to peddling expensive cars to poor kids, I would. I knew the fucker isn’t going to let me get out of this, so I reach out and put my hand in his—shaking firmly.

“Kace Patton, vehicular manslaughter.”

“Matias Ayala, capital murder.”

The bastard actually grins as I looked at him with shock.

Son of a bitch, I guess I have a friend now.